


A Slow Morning

by Avelera



Series: After Uprising [7]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Newton Geiszler Recovery Arc, POV Newton Geiszler, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 09:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: Hermann is a blanket stealer, a thrasher, and a sleep talker. The sleep talking, in particular, Newt wouldn’t mind. It was actually kind of hilarious, and Newt is considering bringing his recorder to bed sometime, but Hermann also gesticulates in his sleep and Newt has woken up twice at this point with a smack in the face and Hermann grumbling nonsense beside him.Sharing a bed with Hermann is also, without a doubt, the best sleep he’s had in ten years.





	A Slow Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macremae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/gifts).

> After writing the sad drabble, "Ten Years", I promised Macremae a happy chaser fic. I hope you enjoy!

Hermann is a blanket stealer, a thrasher, and a sleep talker. The sleep talking, in particular, Newt wouldn’t mind. It was actually kind of hilarious, and Newt is considering bringing his recorder to bed sometime, but Hermann also gesticulates in his sleep and Newt has woken up twice at this point with a smack in the face and Hermann grumbling nonsense beside him.

Sharing a bed with Hermann is also, without a doubt, the best sleep he’s had in ten years.

If called upon, Newt would probably have to chalk the quality of rest up to pheromones because it definitely couldn’t be Hermann’s sleeping habits. Hermann always smelled good to him, like tea and chalk and a hint of formaldehyde from their shared lab, which to Newt always smelled like _home_.

His penthouse bedroom had smelled clean and impersonal, like a hotel, like nothing at all and the bed had been wide and cold, not that he got to enjoy the size or the expensive sheets when he was unconscious most of the time before he hit the pillow at night, on nights when they let him sleep, and they had him out of bed in the morning as soon as he was awake so he could get to work on time. They wouldn’t allow him to be _late._

The prison cell cot where he spent the last six months hadn’t been so hot either, but the less said about that the better.

For the moment, Newt was luxuriating in a slow morning, though it took him a second to remember how to do that. Hermann was buried under a nest of comforters and blankets beside him looking if anything like a human laundry pile, having stolen just about every scrap of fabric on the bed and possibly in the house. Newt would know since he had about a quarter of the bottom sheet left for himself. There was sunlight streaming in through the windows, no curtains because Hermann believed in being an early riser even if he never fucking did it. 

(Secretly, Newt suspected that five years spent in the windowless rust bucket of the Hong Kong Shatterdome had left them both with a hint of claustrophobia and a craving for the sky.)

Newt couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this comfortable, comfortable enough to shimmy around in the bed just to enjoy the feeling of the mattress beneath him, because despite being one of the most bare-bones decorators Newt had ever seen (seriously, other colors _did_ exist besides rental-apartment white), Hermann had _standards_ when it came to his bed. Crazy-high standards that Newt wasn’t going to complain about.

The cliche of sleeping on a cloud sprang to mind, and Newt wasn’t too proud to use it. Heavenly. It was heavenly sleeping next to Hermann so much so that he sometimes wondered if he was dead and if he wasn’t then how the fuck he got here, how he got lucky enough to _survive_ to this point, and that he got to _keep_ this after. All of it, the bed, their apartment, and the sound of Hermann’s light snores in his ears at night with all the thrashing and blanket stealing that implied and Newt wouldn’t have it any other way.

Speaking of snoring, it had gone curiously quiet, and Newt rolled over onto his side to see two dark eyes gazing blearily out from beneath the blanket pile.

“Morning, sunshine,” Newt drawled. “And I do mean sunshine, it’s almost noon, dude.”

A grumble.

“Want breakfast?”

A slightly longer grumble that _might_ have been an affirmative, Newt couldn’t be sure. But when he shifted to get up, cold fingers wrapped around his arm (_always _cold, always _always_, the man didn’t have any circulation to speak of) and dragged him back. So, not an affirmative.

“Ok, but seriously, how are you so cold right now, you’ve stolen every blanket in the house. Are you an actual reptile man, because I dig it, I might even have some tips for you, maybe we can get you a heat lamp and your own terrarium…”

Another grumble punctuated by Hermann’s arms tightening around him and a sleepy voice in his ear slurring, “If you don’t like it then you can bloody well get under here and fix it.”

Newt grinned. “What’s the magic word?”

“Now.”

“Eh, close enough,” Newt said and dragged the pile of comforters over the both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
